** This comes from some raw notes I’d written back in 2005 for the start of a book entitled “Fat Maggie.” 991 words tweaked and buffered in 35 minutes.**
Maggie was fat. Enormously fat. She had no clue when this had actually occurred but as she tried browsing the racks of Lane Bryant to find something suitable to wear, and finding nothing, there was only one conclusion… she was on the far right of the fat continuum. Okay, maybe not “far” right but dangerously approaching.
Or, she rationalized, was it where her fat was located on her body was vastly different than thousands of other women because she didn’t know WHO was looking good in these outfits. These slinky, satiny tanks with bra areas the size of cantaloupes hung by tiny spaghetti straps and tapered waists. So their arms are thin and not flabby but their breasts are six times the size of normal women? Uh, haven’t seen these girls recently.
Okay so maybe not every piece of clothing was meant to work for her even in the “plus size” store. But still.
Still it was time to make a conclusion.
Somehow, somewhere Maggie had stopped taking care of her body. She had stopped really looking in the mirror. Stopped realizing just what kind of food she was putting in her mouth. And most of all, Maggie had stopped moving. All she did was sit. Sit at work, sit in traffic, sit in front of the TV. Sit and not make progress in her life at all.
And was it no surprise again that she was doing this all alone, Maggie told herself.
And with this thought, if Maggie had not been standing in the midst of a store, she would have collapsed to the floor and wailed. She did not want to be alone. And reflecting on her crazy college years and wild 20s, was she paying some kind of karmic bounty and why she was alone. How was she — out of all her friends — still nowhere even close to pushing a stroller or reading the Sunday paper in bed with someone?
Everything could only be reduced back to the fat.
Her waves of realizations were almost too much to bear – drowning her, crashing her against the rough shore of reality and the realization of the Next Step. But bear these waves she must and change them she knew.
Maggie closed her eyes and could feel the very active, kicky size-12 inside. This gigantic shell she was wearing had been there far longer than a year. Reality said the true weight began to build five years ago. For five years, she had only been adding more blubber on to more blubber.
Maggie really felt her fatness.
She walked out of the store and back into the mall causeways. Fat people were everywhere. Huge butts in low-riding jeans, rolls showing through too tight and too short shirts, entire families of roundness.
How did this happen – not only to America but more importantly in this moment to herself? How did she join the ranks of these people? She ate vegetables, salads, water. She understood smoothies were a standalone meal and not a shake to go with a burger. Why hadn’t Maggie been aware of this three years ago or last year?
And the final wave of realization hit her as she scooted to the car, tears beginning to well.
She had not been ready then.
It was a sad fact she knew she had been adding and keeping weight on her body for a reason. She hated her body. She had hated how men had reacted to her body and her personality. How she felt so little control over these reactions and in some case stopping their actions.
She hated her body and that many restaurant chairs were tight and uncomfortable as her ass was too large for the seat. Not that she didn’t fit. She did fit – barely. But as a meal progressed, more and more of her focus was on the feel of the steel arms pressing into her thighs than on the conversation. Forcing her thighs to stay contained; to not expand.
Maggie kept walking to her car, the tears now making their way onto her cheeks. Where was her car? Maggie thought frantically.
And airplane seats. Airplane seats and her belly. This should have been a sign. For her work, Maggie was on a trip monthly and always fighting, tugging the airline seat belt. Silently praying for a glorious “click.” One of the most gratifying sounds in Maggie’s life. How sick.
Maggie got to her car and hurriedly got in. She was slightly out of breath, heaving, sobbing. A bonafide fat girl mess sitting in a shopping center.
Maggie tried to think better thoughts. More loving thoughts for herself. She prayed for more loving thoughts.
Then Maggie remembered her trip to Philadelphia to visit an old college friend.
“C’mon, don’t you want to run Rocky’s steps?”
Maggie had looked up those stairs daunted by the task.
Yes…no. Maggie thought. I definitely do not want to embarrass myself by passing out, gasping like a fish by the 20th step.
“I’m afraid I might pass out doing all those,” Maggie dared to say aloud.
“Well, then I’ll come around with the car.”
So she walked them. All the way. She could actually hear Rocky music playing as she walked step by step.
She was heavy breathing but not gasping, not crawling, not keeling over due to the exertion. She did not feel like others were looking at her as if she was the heaviest woman in the world to climb the stairs without stopping.
And then she was there. She turned around on the Rocky embedded footprints and saw the amazing view of Philly laid out. Clearly worth all those steps to see this, Maggie thought.
How many other views has she missed out on out of fear? Nervous about exertion?
Maggie remembered feeling then that she wanted more of her life to be this way – breath-taking, beautiful and satisfying.
It was time she made it happen.
